La Belle Dame Sans Merci
by formerlyknownasone
Summary: She is La Belle Dame sans Merci, the beautiful lady without mercy. The winner takes it all, and Bella would never allow anyone to win her. Not even Edward. Not when the stakes are so high. AU/All Human.


**La Belle Dame Sans Merci**

**The title of this story is based of a very beautiful poem by John Keats, who incidentally got his title inspiration from a poem of the same name by Alain Chartier. Both poems are apt. The title means 'The Beautiful Lady without Mercy' in French.**

**If you would like the story behind the poem, you can scroll and read the Author's Note at the end of the chapter. In the meanwhile, enjoy.**

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_I met a lady in the meads,  
Full beautiful - a faery's child;  
Her hair was long, her foot was light,  
And her eyes were wild._

_- La Belle Dame Sans Merci, John Keats_

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**EPOV**

Jasper just stood there and laughed at me.

"Very funny," I mumbled, sending a murderous glare in his direction. But he just laughed even more, earning further stares from random strangers inside the art gallery.

"It is funny," he guffawed loudly, totally missing the sarcasm. "Not many people get such… employment opportunities. What was it they said again?"

Just at that terribly wrong moment Alice Brandon came up beside us. "Who was it that said what?" She asked cheerfully as she slipped her hand into the nook of Jasper's arm.

I clenched my teeth and pretended to down my champagne. "Nothing."

Alice first met Jasper Hale during their junior year in university. Their accidental meeting in the library turned into 'coincidental' meet ups to deliberate outings, and as far as I knew, they have been together since then.

That meant that Jasper couldn't keep a secret from her(to my everlasting regret), let alone resist such an opportunity to tease me.

"See that couple over there?" Jasper pointed to the back of the gallery. Alice nodded, peering probably at some blond couple whose faces I'm trying hard not to remember.

"Edward was hired to perform a strip act at their next Saturday's party."

"What!"

"They mistook me for someone else," I defended myself.

"Oh really?" Jasper smirked. "But they were _so _sure they saw you at last month's swinger party."

I glared at him. "You know that I have never met them before."

"Are you sure?" It could be you were too busy doing… something else to pay attention," Jasper drawled, raising an eyebrow slowly. Alice giggled in appreciation.

"The only reason why your face is not smashed into that painting behind you is because I'm pretty sure my best friend's mum won't appreciate receiving an invitation to her son's funeral."

A lazy smile. "Not up to your usual standard of retort, Cullen."

"Maybe it's because I have no reason not to slam your head against it. The thought is awfully tempting."

"Chill," Alice admonished the both of us before she turned to me. "Actually, you do have a reason not to. The small burst of satisfaction against that canvas cost…." She glanced down at a pamphlet. "Five thousand eight hundred dollars."

I considered for a moment. "Worth the price. Give me another reason."

"Angela won't be happy that 'Cashier Pilfering the Change' is ruined."

Ben, our good friend from college, called us a few weeks ago, begging us to show up at the tonight to show moral support for his fiancée Angela, who was making her debut in this art gallery with her first showcase. Alice thought it would be a good idea to try something other than renting movies, and so we all agreed to turn up.

I liked Ben. I liked Angela. They were nice, decent people. A part of me idly wondered how on earth they would know people who dabble in swinging. I decided Angela must be more quixotic and free-spirited than she let on. She was, after all, an artist.

Which reminded me that I was not here for public humiliation, but to support Angela and Ben. The least I could do was walk around and appreciate something. Or get away from the two dickheads.

I excused myself from my two best friends and walked around alone, unsure of where to start. This wasn't my usual kind of thing, being no art connoisseur – my experiences were mainly limited to museums. Was there a sequence to follow?

It didn't matter, I thought after looking helplessly around for a minute before giving up. I just started from where I was.

It was interesting to say the least. Angela's works were charcoal works, a blend of only black and white. And every single piece was about people. Not about a specific person in particular, but many different people. A man sitting on the park bench, finishing his cigarette. Hookers sitting on the sidewalk on the streets. A business man busy trying to catch some loose paper caught in the wind.

What appealed to me about them was the total lack of background within the composition. Its removal was substituted with pure white space. Somehow it made me concentrate on the subject. I supposed that was the point.

Vaguely I remember the show was titled 'The Strangers You Know'.

Angela was talented, I decided as I studied a particular portrait of Ben pushing up his spectacles. Admittedly there were some that did not sustain my attention, but those that did were intriguing and captured elements of familiarity in them.

I continued my prowl around the gallery, stopping to admire those I liked and scanning through those that failed to spark anything. I paused beside one where a female was tracing circles on her lover's arms, before moving on to the next one.

I stopped.

The woman in the portrait was absolutely beautiful. She was tilted sideways, with only the thinnest sheet wrapped loosely around her slim frame. Dark, soft hair spilled past her shoulders, partially covering the blank canvas that was her smooth back.

She wasn't perfect. Her neck was not long, and her lips were perhaps too full. Her untamed eyes were not symmetrically shaped either. There wasn't anything classical about her beauty, yet that made her all the more stunning.

And her eyes. Her dark, lovely eyes. They stared at me with something I couldn't exactly described. It was slightly wild, haunting, as if there was a secret there.

No, I realized mistakenly. Her eyes were filled with vulnerability. A vulnerability she didn't even know existed.

She was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

Glancing down, the title of the work caught my eye.

_La Belle Dame Sans Merci._

Somehow I knew the title meant what it meant. A beautiful lady without mercy.

"Enjoying the show?"

I turned dazedly to my right, trying to snap out of my reverie.

Angela was beaming at me, happiness glowing from within her. I tried to summon all my concentration and congratulated her on the success of her show.

She beamed even wider.

"I'm glad the hard work you put into this show paid off," I told her sincerely.

"I couldn't have done without the help of Ben and the rest of my friends," she replied modestly. Yet I recognized the simple, quiet happiness within her despite the sophisticated evening dress I was unaccustomed seeing her in.

With that I returned to staring at the portrait, unable to take my eyes off it. The woman in it was a stranger. It was a stranger I yearn, wanted, craved to know.

Questions came out of my mouth before I knew it. "Do you know all the subjects you drawn?"

"Some of them were just people who I see in my everyday life around my neighbourhood. I don't really know them, but there's something about their actions that make them so familiar to me. I would see _them_ whether I am in Texas or Washington, even if it is not exactly the same person," She explained. "Whereas some are about the people whom I really know. Take this one for example." She gestured to the portrait I have been gawking at.

My heart leapt. "You know her?" I tried to sound nonchalant, and wasn't convinced I succeeded.

She nodded. "I do."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Bella."

_Bella_. Even her name fitted her.

"We were friends in high school," Angela continued. "I knew her since she transferred in my junior year. We were good friends, despite the fact we weren't alike in personalities at all. I was the art fanatic, and her nose was always stuck in some book. But we were really thick."

"I would be the band geek then," I joked.

"And Ben would be in some computer gaming club," she laughed, catching the eye of her fiancé across the room.

I looked at the lithe body of Bella, not quite sure whether I sounded bitter or resigned. "I bet she was homecoming queen."

Angela snorted. "Not exactly."

"Why not?" I couldn't imagine this woman being anything but the loveliest in the room. People would worship her.

"I mean, she would be if she turned up for prom. Which of course she didn't."

That caught my attention. "She didn't?"

She shrugged. "She loathed the senior president and the school principal." As if that meant everything.

Wasn't prom every girl's dream? That at least showed she had spunk. La Belle Dame Sans Merci indeed.

I tried to change the topic to something more neutral, but my mind couldn't think of any. My thoughts were filled with nothing, nothing but the images and the haunting eyes of Bella. Within that short span of five minutes I became totally spellbound and senseless to all. She had no mercy indeed.

So I dropped the pretense.

"Do you know what I think of her?" I asked finally.

A cat-caught-the-mouse grin appeared on Angela's bright face. "I think I do. But I need to torture you by making you spell it out."

I groaned. "Is that necessarily?"

"Absolutely," she said seriously.

"Fine," I smiled slightly. Nothing could spoil my mood. "I think she is absolutely beautiful."

"So do many other people."

That sparked a jealousy in me, though I admitted that was understandable. Hell, who would not think so?

"I like Bella."

"So do I."

"Well, I _know _I need to finagle an introduction to her."

"And?"

"Would you please help me?"

"Hmmm," She pretended to consider.

"Please?" I wasn't above begging if I needed to.

"What are friends for?" she sighed. "I will introduce you to Bella."

"Thank you," I said eagerly, trying to sound extremely grateful. She was my saviour after all. I couldn't let my enthusiasm overwhelm my gratitude. "When?"

"How about now?"

That threw me off.

"You mean she's here?" I sputtered, looking around. The room was so crowded, I couldn't see anyone who resembles this sloe-eyed angel captured in canvas.

"I told she was my good friend. Of course Bella would be here."

My heart couldn't stop beating frantically.

She was here. She could even be behind me now. That thought sent a pleasant sensation down by spine.

"You have to find her." I couldn't stop the large grin appearing on my face. I would know her. Very, very soon.

"Okay," She agreed, but then hesitated, a bit of her quietness coming back. "You are serious aren't you?"

Confusion clouded my features. "Why would I not be?"

"Nothing," She shook her head, adjusting the tortoise shell clip on her hair. "It's just that…. You seem very serious."

"I am."

"Well then, I think since you are my friend, I should tell you." She paused. "There is a reason why I named my work 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci', you know."

"After Keat's work?" I asked, aware of it from one of my poetry introduction classes in college.

"Yes, but you should know I wasn't the one who came up with calling her that. It was sort of a nickname or title she gained when she went to university. Even though I didn't attend the same university as her, she did tell me about it."

I nodded.

"It is a fairly accurate description, I have to warn you," Angela said to me. "I don't want to see either of you hurt."

I would rather be hurt then spend the rest of my life merely thinking, dreaming and never knowing Bella.

"I don't care," I shrugged. "It's a risk I will take."

Angela studied me for a moment.

"You will be good for her," She observed, then revealing a Cheshire grin. "In fact you may be what she need."

And she is what I need.

* * *

It shouldn't have taken more than a minute to find her; Bella was too beautiful to miss. But in fact, the search went on for ten minutes, and I haven't seen a sight of her.

"I don't see her," I said, bouncing restlessly on the heel of my shoes. Beside me Angela scanned around the room for a second time.

"Maybe she went home," She suggested. "No, she wouldn't be so cruel to leave me at my first show without a single goodbye."

I tried not to feel disappointment. Could it be that Angela's art had exaggerated the strength of Bella's grace so much that I had too high expectations? That a plain mousy girl very likely to be this Bella could walk pass me and I wouldn't recognize her at all?

Angela's eyes suddenly twinkled at me.

"There she is."

She needed have said more. The moment _she_ walked into the gallery I was hyper aware of her presence. Even from this far a distance where her features were not entirely distinguishable, it did not diminish her loveliness one bit. My breath caught.

Angela's art was no exaggeration. Not at all.

I tugged at Angela's hand, urging her to move faster towards my intended direction. It was slow and excruciating, but we somehow managed to reach Bella's side without either of us combusting.

"Bella!"

"Angela." I couldn't help but notice her voice was a bedroom voice, with a low, seductive cadence to it.

"Where were you? I was looking for you allover!"

Bella shrugged dismissively. "I went outside for a cigarette."

"I almost thought you left."

"I would never miss something that important to you. Congratulations anyway," Bella said sincerely as she gave her friend a quick hug. Then she glanced inquisitively at me.

Angela started to play the role of warm hostess after the necessary greetings, and I mentally thanked her for her help.

"Bella, this is Edward. Edward, Bella."

Little did Angela know that these innocuous words were the ones that would help change my life.

"It is nice to meet you," I told her with a grin on my face.

"You too," she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The burgundy dress she wore looked fantastic on her. I tried not to focus how creamy it made her skin look.

"I don't mean to sound like the Spanish Inquisition, but is Bella short for anything?" I inwardly chided myself – I sounded so lame.

"It is," she said. "My full name is Isabella Marie Swan."

Why is it that her name fit her so perfectly?

"Isabella," I repeated to myself. "That's a lovely name. Isabella."

"I prefer Bella."

She winced, and I wondered why. Probably, I realized, the same reason why a person named Archiebald would change his name. Or like why Jasper would never respond when his grandmother calls him Dorian, his middle name.

"Well Bella Swan, Edward Anthony Cullen at your service." I smiled.

"What? Just simple Edward Anthony Cullen?" She teased. "Not something-the-thirteenth or Jr. attached to the back?"

I laughed. "Nope."

"That's kind of sad," Bella said. "And here I was, thinking you were some trust-fund baby or billionaire's son."

I waggled my eyebrows. "Maybe I am."

The corner of her lips turned slightly. "I guess I have to stick around and find out then."

Exactly as I intended.

I grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to her. "By the way," I asked casually, "Why did you lie?"

A raised eyebrow "What lie?"

"You don't smoke do you?"

Her eyes rounded, disbelief mirrored in them. Her lips parted slightly, and I felt a slight pleasure burn through me.

I had made her shocked. In the mere minutes we have interacted she had been composed, cool and in control of herself. She probably spent the whole evening with that same emotion. But I had surprised her for the first time that evening, whereas no one else had done that.

But I could. I had the _power _to surprise her.

"How did you know?"

"There are signs."

"Like?" She persisted.

I chuckled. "For one, you don't smell of smoke."

She considered that while sipping her champagne. "I could have gone out for a long time."

"You don't have yellow teeth," I said mock-seriously. "That's a definite sign of a smoker."

"Perhaps I have a really good dentist."

"Could be. Plus…" I hesitated. Did I want to sound like a pervert? That was not the impression I would want to make.

"What?" She asked curiously. And I knew then I couldn't deny the truth from her.

"You aren't carrying a lighter or a packet of cigarette," I let my admiring, albeit lecherous, gaze fall on her lithe body. "You can't have, not in a dress as fitting as that."

"You are such a rogue," she complained.

I shrugged. "You asked. And besides, don't artists call it 'admiring the feminine form'?"

She laughed. "Smooth one, Cullen."

I scowled. "Call me Edward."

She paused. I didn't like that pause.

"Okay, Edward. Edward Anthony," Bella said slowly.

I tried to hide my grin of pleasure. I was enjoying the way my name rolled off her lips too much.

"So why did you lie?" I asked questioningly in an attempt to distract myself from that train of thought.

Bella looked at a nearby painting casually while she answered. "A subterfuge."

"For?"

"Sometimes such gathering can be really stuffy, and you need to get out." She explained, meeting my gaze. "To feel the wind against my face."

I nodded, understanding.

"It has been my experience that the best excuse is to say you need to smoke." Her smile twisted a little. "Kind of ironic isn't it?"

"It is," I agreed.

"Well Edward Anthony," she said, leaning in slightly. "You may be a good observer and a good detective, but I got something better than you."

"What?"

She leaned in even closer to me. "I am clairvoyant."

"And you have solid proof?" I asked teasingly. By this time the rest of the world had faded away and there were only the two of us. She was that alluring.

She nodded and her eyes sparkled. "I do," she said confidently.

"I don't believe you."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

"Prove it," I challenged.

"I could," Bella drawled. "For instance, tell you where you would be on a weekend night. Or specifically, next weekend night."

She said that so boldly, and for a moment I wasn't sure whether this was a joke.

"And where would I be?" I asked uncertainly.

"You sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"Fine," She whispered in my ear. "You are going to be performing as a stripper in a really wild party."

Oh my god.

I stared at her as she burst into laughter.

"That's not funny," I scowled. How did you find out about that?"

I was going to kill Jasper if he was the idiot who spread such malicious stuff around.

Bella didn't answer. She was still busy laughing at my expense.

"Please tell me a blond hair man named Jasper didn't tell you that."

"The couple of invited you are friends of mine," she explained, her voice full of mirth at my expense. "They told me about some 'bronzed-hair' hunk named Edward and I made the connection."

"I feel a certain sense of humiliation," I mumbled. I should have known such stories get around fast. Really fast.

"Don't feel bad," She cajoled. "I'm sure they consider that an honor."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted, suddenly making a connection. "You said you made the connection… So you think I am a 'hunk'?"

"That's awfully brazen of you to refer yourself as that," she commented. "It sounds like a piece of meat."

I tried not to make a pun out of it.

"So you think I am handsome." I stated.

"Not many people have bronze hair in this room you know," she said dismissively. "I could have made the connection from there."

"But you think I am handsome," I insisted, compelling her to give me the right answer.

Her lips twitched. "Maybe."

"You do!" I said triumphantly.

"I would be lying," she admitted, "If I say you weren't the least bit attractive."

My grin grew wider. "That's okay. I find you most attractive as well." I confessed. "I think you are the most beautiful person I ever met."

The look in her eye showed me she didn't believe a word I said. I couldn't let her have any doubts of my intention.

Impulsively, I grabbed her hand, well aware of the electricity running through us. She had to have felt it. She _had to_. "It's true."

She glanced evasively at the door.

"You are that beautiful," I said firmly, holding onto her hand tightly.

Finally, her eyes met mine. There was something about her lovely eyes that look wild and vulnerable at the same time.

And then she blushed. It was the single most beautiful act I have ever seen, and I was mesmerized by the colours forming on her cheeks.

Then she looked away. "I have to go now."

"Now?"

"My cat needs feeding." Bella laughed. Was that the truth? It seemed so... untrue.

But what could I have said to that?

She walked away slowly. I followed.

"And when will I see you again?"

"Maybe the Angela's next art show," she kidded.

"Too long," I mock-frowned. "Well, I am going to be forward. Pass me your phone."

"I don't have it with me," Bella said, gesturing to her body. "Form-fitting dress remember?"

I tried not to be reminded of that very pleasant fact.

"Ah well," I shrugged happily, pulling something out of my pocket. At least this way I was not at her mercy. I could call her. "I have mine. Can you give me your number?"

She took my phone and punched in her number before tossing my phone back to me.

"Walk me to the door?" she asked. I nodded.

It was a silent walk. We exchanged no words until we were outside the gallery.

"I guess this is goodnight," I commented, a twinge of melancholy overcoming me.

But it wasn't goodbye. I was determined to see her again. I would make sure of that. I clutched my cell phone, assuring myself I had a way to reach her.

"Farewell, Edward Anthony," Bella replied, gazing at me with those dark eyes of hers.

"Farewell _for now_," I emphasized the last two words. "I will reach you."

She turned, laughing. "You can try," she told me, and then she tip-toed and swiftly pressed her lips against my cheek.

It was truly torturous. I wanted so badly to turn my head so that I can catch her lips with mine, but I resisted. I would not risk scaring away this merciless lady who evaded my thoughts just for one kiss. She was forever. My forever.

Instead, I reveled in the warmth on her body, and the flow of heat from her lips. Surely she could feel that same connection between us...

Then abruptly, she turned and walked away. As if she didn't notice it.

I stayed there, until she disappeared into the shadows before walking back into the gallery.

I had a painting to buy.

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**Not sure if I liked the way the tone is, but I guess it will have to do until find a better one. Reviews would give plenty of nice suggestions. **

**I promised to give you the story behind the poem La Belle Dame sans Merci, or the Beautiful Lady without Mercy. In Keat's version, the narrator stumbles across this knight one autumn by the lake. The knight then shares his story when the narrator asks why he is there. **

**The knight meets a mysterious lady who is as beautiful as she is ethereal. He is entranced and captivated by this lady and proceeds to fall for her. She tells the knight that she loves him, yet he is unsure of the language she speaks. After the knight kisses the lady to sleep, he himself falls into slumber and dreams of other princes, kings and warriors, all who were trapped by his beloved lady. When he wakes, he finds that she is gone.**

**Death is implied throughout the poem.**


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